I read somewhere once that a song isn't finished until it's heard.  It's the same way with a work of art not being finished until it is seen.  I believe in that.  There's something about the creative process that demands that the end point be the unveiling. 

 

I have a new philosophy though.  Having a few of my songs demoed has been a huge gift as a writer.  To take a scratchy, rudimentary taping of a song and record it with producers and musicians worth their salt is like a Cinderella story.  Cinderella was good before she got the threads and the man and the crib...but the threads and the man and the crib didn't hurt the sitch too much!  It has been such a gift to me.  I remember standing in the BBMP studios, bawling like a baby when my first two songs were demoed.  It was thrilling, and I'm SO thankful to Joel and the Brentwood folks.

 

Last November, SueC, TravisP and I wrote a couple of songs for their Christmas service.  Writing with those two has been a lot of fun.  God is blessing what is going on at their church, and the church is excited about the music/writing ministry there.  The church has actually budgeted demo money this year!   The songs being written are graduating from the service cassettes to full blown demos.  They send them out to their congregation as a gift.  Travis and SueC are on staff at the church, and are two wonderful people to work with.  They love God, they love serving their local church body with their gifts, and are working to bring out the creativity in the people around them.

 

Being a part of what's going on at their church has been a lifeline to me.  To add to the blessing, now I get demoed songs of what we're doing!  A big thanks to Travis, who sang the lead on this, and was the one who took charge of getting this song demoed.  He and the guys in Oregon knocked this thing out of the park, in my opinion.

 

Have a listen to YOU GAVE YOUR WORD:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do not watch the Miss Universe swimming suit competition while trying to enjoy a Dolly Madison Cherry Pie.

 

I have heartburn.

 

Orv's quadruple bypass went well today.  He was in a lot of pain when he came out, but they've given him something for it, and now he's resting.  

 

Thanks for the prayers said.  Keep them coming!

Friday, my father-in-law had an abnormal ekg.  This morning, he went in for a heart catheterization, and we just found out that he needs triple by-pass surgery.  The surgery is tomorrow morning.

 

Please pray for my father-in-law.  His name is Orv.

 

Here's the late night addition:  We just got back from Lincoln.  The surgeon came in and told us that all five arteries are blocked, four of them 90 percent or more.  He's going to try to bypass four of them, with the fifth being icing on the cake if he can get back there to do it.  The family is intensely grateful that God prompted Orv to go to the doctor last Friday when he was feeling funny.  I know he's not out of the woods by any means, but we're thankful they've caught it, and would appreciate your prayers.  We had a neat time of prayer as a family in his room tonight.  He started crying when the three grandchildren there started praying for him.  (11, 10, and 7)   God has been good to our family.

I don't know a thing about Imogen Heap, but this filled my well today.  My friend sent me this link, and I was amazed.  Pretty cool. (it might freeze up at the beginning, but then it gets rolling.  She does all of it on the spot, as far as I can tell.)

 

 

Thanks Trav!

 

 

 

 

I went to see Caren yesterday.  She was sitting in a chair next to her bed when I got there, and she called out my name as I peeked into the room.  The first thing she said to me was:  "Well, I guess God isn't through with me yet.  Do you think he's going to tell me why He's keeping me here?"  I said, "Well, I know one thing, we're all glad He's decided to keep you around." 

 

I turned to John and he had tears in his eyes.  I asked, "Can you believe this?  I can't believe I'm sitting here talking to her after seeing how she was on Friday."  John said:  "The doctors say she's a miracle.  I think it's quite a gift."

 

It is a gift.  It's a wonderful gift.  God is keeping Caren around for a while, so it looks.   yay!   I couldn't stay long because she had some respitory stuff she had to do.  On the way down in the elevator, some ladies started talking to me. They had a mother/grandmother up in intensive care too.  They said they had seen our group there on Friday, all in the corner crying, and that it seemed we had better news today by the looks of us.  I told them the story.  Their news on Friday was bad as well, and today it had been even worse.  The prognosis for their loved one (named Velma...cancer is her battle) was much different than that of Caren's. 

 

Within the span of an elevator ride, I had learned about Velma and her struggle, and had felt a bond with these virtual strangers.  Hospitals are such emotional places.   Emotions that surface in a hospital setting seem so much more pure and simple.  These women were afraid and sad.  They weren't trying to muster up their dignity and keep a straight face, like they might have been doing in a bank elevator, or a mall elevator.  There is license to feel in a hospital. 

 

What would happen if we all tried to be little hospitals walking around?  Not that we try to fix people, but that we are safe places for people to feel what they need to feel.  Something to think about anyway.

We were out of town all day.  We just got back from being at Bart's folks', and there were two messages on the machine.  One was from the neighbor who lives behind Caren.   They had been to see her today.  The other one was from John, Caren's husband.  He said something like this:

 

"Bart and Lisa;  Caren opened her eyes today.  She recognized us, and has even said a few words.  It's a miracle from God."

 

Thanks to all of you who have been praying.  Thanks for the comments, and for the emails.  Keep the prayers up for Caren and her family!

12 years ago, we moved to this town.  Our neighbors to the west of us were some of our first friends. John and Caren are my parents' age.  They had been one of the first families to move in to the neighborhood 23 years ago.  When we moved in, I was pregnant with our first daughter.  One of the first conversations we had was about the schools here.  She had worked in the school system for years, and had also been a daycare provider for two principals.   I told her we were planning on homeschooling.  She looked at me with her trademark furrowed brow and said:  "Well, that's weird."  I liked her instantly.

 

The thing with Caren is, you always know where you stand with her, and you always know what she thinks.  If she's upset I haven't called her (3 years ago we moved 6 blocks away from them), she'll send an e-mail and say:  "Why haven't you called me?  Have you forgotten about me?"  So, I'll call her,  and we'll be back on track.  There are no cold shoulders, passive aggressive behaviors, slandering, or pettyness. 

 

Another thing with Caren is, once she lets you in...you're in.  She would do anything for you. ANYTHING.  She may complain about it, but she'll be there when you need her.  She'll be the first one there, and the last one to leave.  I've come to admire and love her.  She's authentic....it may be authentically crabby at times...but it's authentic.  I'm starting to see what a rare and wonderful quality that is.

 

She had a massive heart attack yesterday.  Ninety percent of her heart is damaged .  Her doctors say she's suffered severe brain damage.  Her prognosis is grim.  Last week, I sat in her living room, talking about how we could re-arrange her furniture, and how we were going to take her grandson and my kids to see Shrek 3.  This week, she's hanging on by a thread in an intensive care unit. 

 

I sat in her room today, crying with her friends and family.  She has touched all of us in simple but profound ways.  I love her.  I have been loved by her.  I don't want to say goodbye.  I want to go to Shrek 3 like we were supposed to this week.  I want to help her re-arrange her living room.  I want her to come to Jenna's softball games, like she said she would.  I don't want to watch a 60 year old man cry and choke out his gentle pleas for his wife to open her eyes or even just squeeze his hand. 

 

This isn't what Caren, John, her kids, her grandson, and all of her friends want either.  In this moment, I feel like such a child.  I don't WANT this day.  I don't WANT this pain.  I DON'T WANT MY FRIEND TO DIE.

 

The Father is listening, I know.  Please pray for Caren.  Pray for her family and friends.  Pray for me too.

I did my lunch shtick this week.  It was actually a good time.  There were no girl fights, no yelling about the raising of the hands, no sweat dripping on to the hotdogs.  Lunch Lady was a delight.  We actually shared a few laughs, and in the middle of it all:

 

SHE ASKED ME IF BART AND I WANTED TO GO DO KARAOKE WITH HER AND HER HUSBAND!!!!

 

When I told Bart, he said "We should go, just so you could blog about it."

 

We could both don our hairnets and sing Sandler's Lunch Lady song.  Or, we could do a Reba/Kelly duet! (only if I get to be Kelly though)

 

Should I go?  yay or nay?  Discuss.

WELCOME TO THE WORLD BABY HAWKINS!!

Jenna was born with crossed eyes.  She had surgery when she was one.  The surgery helped immensely.  However, she still has one eye that will wander out now and then.   I've noticed it.  Bart has noticed it.  As far as we know, others have noticed it, but nobody has ever said anything to her about it.

 

Last week at school, a boy said he didn't like looking at her because of her eye.  Jenna was telling me this as we sat at the counter having a snack after school.  I was trying not to make a big deal out of it.  I just kept munching on my chex mix nonchalantly.  But inside, I wanted to hunt down that boy and tear HIS eyes out.

 

I asked her if what he said bothered her.  She said "Not really."  and just kept eating her snack.  I could tell she meant what she said.  That's the thing I like about that kid.  For the most part, she accepts and likes who she is. 

 

I want to be like her when I grow up.

Lunch duty was almost on the books when the fight began.  I had taken off my hairnet, plastic gloves, and apron, and was peacefully munching on a tater triangle, when the Recess Lady  (who also monitors the eating of the lunches before recess) walked into the kitchen.  To put it mildly, her knickers were in a bonafide twist. 

 

"WHO TOLD THE KIDS WHO BRING COLD LUNCH TO MOVE OUT OF THE LINE AND GO SIT DOWN?" Grumped the Recess lady.

 

Instantly, the Lunch Lady was on the defense.  "I always tell the cold lunch kids to move on in the line because they clog the line up."

 

"WELL, NOW THEY'RE FIGHTING OVER WHO GETS TO SIT NEXT TO WHO BECAUSE THE LINE GETS MIXED UP."

 

"WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO?  THEY'RE CLOGGING UP THE LINE!!!!"

 

"I'M NOT GOING TO GET INTO THIS WITH YOU, STOP YELLING AT ME"

 

"YOU'RE YELLING AT ME!"

 

You've should have seen me and the other volunteers.  I was frozen in mid-bite, glancing nervously over at Catarina and Dawn.  They had their noses buried in their styrofoam trays, trying to eat quickly so they could get out of there.  The recess lady was standing in the doorway, blocking my escape.  I wolfed down the rest of my tater triangle, smiled and said loudly "Well, we'll see you next week ladies!" And slinked behind the angry recess lady to freedom.

 

I'm pretty sure who won that one.  I'm almost positive the Recess Lady won't venture another trip into the kitchen with any complaints.  If she does, I'll bolt...even if it means wearing my hairnet out to the parking lot.

Tonight's topic of thought to pass the midnight hours is:  My Blog Title.  In the year+ I've been blogging, I've never explained my blog title.  It comes from a John Mayer lyric.  I'm a huge fan of his, and one of his songs made me smile as he painted a perfect picture of the life that people like me are leading:

 

HOME LIFE

John Mayer

 

I think I'm gonna stay home
Have myself a home life
Sitting in the slow-mo
And listening to the daylight
I am not a nomad
I am not a rocket man
I was born a housecat
By the slight of my mother's hand

I think I'm gonna stay home

I want to live in the center of a circle
I want to live on the side of a square
I used to be in my M to Z now
You'll never find me cause my name isn't there
Home life
Been holding out for the home life
My whole life

I want to see the end game
I want to learn her last name
Finish on a Friday
And sit in traffic on the highway
See, I refuse to believe
That my life's gonna be
Just some string of incompletes
Never to lead me to anything remotely close to a home life

Been holding out for the home life
My whole life

I can tell you this much
I will marry just once
And if it doesn't work out
Give her half of my stuff
It's fine with me
We said eternity
I will go to my grave
With the love that I gave
Not just some melody line
On a radio wave
It dissipates
And soon evaporates
But home life doesn't change

I want to live in the center of a circle
I want to live on the side of a square
I'd love to walk to where we both can talk but
I've got to leave you 'cause my ride is here
Home life
You take the home life
You keep the home life
I'll come back for the home life
I promise

 

Center of a circle, side of a square, what a great description of suburban neighborhoods.  That's why he makes the big bucks, and why people rip off strands of his lyrics to use for blog titles.

 

If only sleep would come to someone living on the side of this square before she gains another pound eating Schwan's ice cream bars.

Last night, Bart pulled a Piper sermon off the internet (www.desiringgod.org)  for our devotion time.  The title is:  GOING DEEP WITH GOD BY HAVING HIM CARRY OUR LOADS.  Here's his introduction, and the general outline of his sermon:

Before we moved into our first house, we did some updating.  One of the things we did was lay wood flooring in the kitchen.  Later, after we moved in, we needed to replace the dishwasher.  However, the guy told us that because of the wood floors, there wasn't enough room to get the dishwasher out and put in a new one, unless the countertops were popped off.

 

That started a line of thinking in my brain that landed us $40,000 down the road.  "Well," thought the dreamer in me, "if we need to pop the counters off, we might as well replace them.  They're 20 years old, so why not?  And, if we're taking off the counters, we'll need to take out the sink, so let's replace that too.   Why not re-configure a bit, for more storage?! Now, that means buying new cabinets.  Re-configuring means a new floor...oh nevermind on that one...... Since we're replacing the dishwasher, we might as well replace the refrigerator, stove and microwave.  Oh, and a bigger window would be nice, as well."  At one point, I had even drawn up a plan to bump out the kitchen 10 feet, adding at least 40,000 more to the deal.

 

I compare that story to songwriting.   You finish a song, and for some reason or another, there's just one word that isn't working.  Sometimes, you can replace the word with no problem. Voila..new dishwasher in....on to the next project......  Other times,  you end up having to re-arrange the entire song because you've used up every option for that word in other lines of the song, or because the new word you found messes up the entire rhyme scheme, or cadence or syllable count or whatever.  So, you deconstruct...and reconstruct...and deconstruct...and reconstruct.  Many times, for me anyway,  that's where I manage to mine out the "wow" factor.  But then there are the times you construct, deconstruct, reconstruct,  and deconstruct until the thing has lost all semblance of inspiration.  What you are sometimes left with is a sterile version of the song...where everything is in the right place, but none of it is moving or even believable.

 

A fellow writer friend of mine from church brought a great hook to our first co-write.  We've almost finished the song.  The first line bugs both of us though.  We're searching for the easy fix...the one hour dishwasher installation....

 

I don't have 40,000 more thoughts to put towards this one.  Neither does my co-writer.  As a matter of fact, I think I've left her a little bewildered with this re-writing thing.  4-5 syllables is all we need...and this remote control...and this paddle ball.....

New York wowed me.  Part of me wanted to be a part of that culture...one which is driven, culturally rich and diverse, the center of power (wall street, the media, on and on) and one which provides seemingly endless opportunities to live out your creativity.

 

The other part of me felt intensely grateful for the life that I lead.  Coming home was a wonderful feeling.  The peaceful street on which we live, the cheap coffee (small red eye and a scone in new york...7.50!),  our bargain of a house, clean air, and just the overall speed and simplicity of life are HUGE blessings to me. 

 

Ok, and here are a few politically acceptable slams I can make on the state of affairs in New York:

 

The cabs are FILTHY  (I carried wipes with me...at least five of NY's cabs are now a bit cleaner)

The honking is MADDENING...the echoes off the buildings just magnify all of it

The traffic is INSANE

The prices are RIDICULOUS

 

But I'd go back tomorrow...

 

As long as I could come home again. 

 

P.S.

I worked lunch duty yesterday and asked how Lunch Lady's nephew is doing.  They think his surgery was successful, and he returned to school on Monday.  He'll be starting radiation/chemo or whatever the course of treatment is very soon.  Keep praying for him.